Ten years ago, I gave birth to him at home, or rather a friend's home closer to town, just in case of an emergency. I remember this day vividly, mostly the relief that it was finally happening, that this little being finally chose to make his or her appearance after being three weeks too late. One more day, and we would have to induce labor in the hospital. So on December 26th, in the early stages of labor, I paced up and down a path flanked by gigantic cedar trees. As I leaned on Steve every now and then, panting through a contraction, I caught glimpses of Chuckanut Bay, the salty water churned by wind. Surrounded by friends and a very competent midwife, I pushed that baby out at 1 in the morning, December 27th.
|It's a boy! Shiny and new at two days old! We look tired, but proud.|
Here is Kai growing:
We love the outdoors, so we kept hauling him up mountains with us. He even got to sleep in an old fire lookout when he was ten months old. Here we are, snuggling and nursing in the morning, with a killer view:
|Hidden Lake lookout|
|And he is growing...|
Here is Kai on the morning of his tenth birthday, very happy about the wooden long bow his daddy made for him. He might go hunting this fall. Hunting! The adolescent bringing home meat for the family! Wow!
For his birthday celebration, there were lots of home made treats, roller skating with his friends, and tracking bears in the snow.
Our Christmas was fun. And hard. And fun. And hard. There are so many expectations floating around about Christmas needing to be perfect, extra special and sacred. There are painful memories to be relived from childhood Christmases. There are children hyped up on sugar and excitement. And yet... our little family had a good Christmas. We are making our own traditions, we are trying to stay away from the commercialization of this season, and we are okay with not living up to insane expectations (most of the time).
After all these celebrations and merry making, I got violently sick for a day. I spent yesterday on the sofa sleeping and in front of the toilet bowl, throwing up. Yuck.
This set me back in my packing plans for the RV. We are supposed to leave January 2nd to start our grand adventure, and I haven't cleaned the house for the house sitters, packed up the RV, kitchen, food, bikes, clothes... I haven't eaten anything for 36 hours, and I am weak and tired. So here I am, writing this post, instead of working. And I kind of like it, this concept of taking care of myself and not sweating the small stuff. It's all gonna be done in time, I know it. With a man like Steve at my side, everything is possible.